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☆☆☆
These are not your stars.
This is not your home.
The natural beauty of this galaxy had made your heart thump unevenly in your chest just hours ago, when you'd first caught a glimpse of the cosmos here and seen how jewel tones of blue and green bled between each speck of light in the distance... but now?
Now the staccato rhythm of their twinkle grates on the raw part of you that thinks fondly of warm grass underneath your bare feet and the scent of your mother's perfume that would linger on your shirt whenever she held you. Their shine feels like a spotlight sent to illuminate every doubt you've ever had about joining Starfleet in this first place; about leaving your HOME and everyone you've ever loved.
It'd be funny if it wasn't so pathetic -- the way that you spent your whole life with your head in the clouds until the day you surpassed the heavens. Now all you can think about is the ground.
Always wanting what you can't have. That's you in a nutshell.
Sleep isn't coming for you, not as long as you've got your forehead pressed to the cool surface of this window with eyes peering out and searching for things to take and add to that miserable feeling in the pit of your gut. So, you quiet that voice in your head that tries to seduce you into extending your pity party and abandon the window for your closet.
There's really only one thing to do on a night like this. And it's an occasion to get dressed for.
*
Lieutenant Commander Data's room is a long walk from yours, but you don't mind. It gives you enough time to clear your head and paste a smile on your face before you ring his room.
"Enter."
The door slides open with a murmured "hiss" and you step inside, hands deep in the pockets of your off-duty leisure wear. Data is, as expected, wide-awake. He sets aside his sketchpad and the pages flip quickly before settling, allowing you a glimpse of his outlines of Spot, who's dozing comfortably on the arm of the couch.
"Good evening, commander," you say, suddenly less sure of the logic behind your decision to come to him. "Am I interrupting?"
"Not at all," Data assures you. He rises smoothly from his seat but doesn't approach. Instead, he appraises you calmly. He does everything calmly. That's the beauty of Data. "I was merely attempting to capture examples of Spot's posture while she is dormant. Can I help you with something?"
Oh.
You didn't think this far ahead when you were planning this out in your mind. Data is the only person you knew you wouldn't be running the risk of waking up, now, but common sense has finally chipped through the shields of despair that your brain put up and made you realize that you were about to complain of homesickness to a superior officer.
It's too late to close the door and retreat, however, so you take a breath.
"I'm having trouble sleeping," You shrug, trying not to look pathetic. "And I knew that you'd be up. I thought we could hang out."
"Hang out?" Data echoes, wrapping his lips around each syllable with care, as if he'd break the phrase if he was careful with it. He tilts his head to the right as understanding dawns in his eyes. "Ah. To spend time relaxing or socializing informally. While I have no reason to object to informal socialization, I must advise you that humans require a certain amount of sleep to function within their normal perimeters. Lack of sufficient sleep can cause irritability, fatigue, difficulty with focus and memory, a reduced sex drive, and -"
"I know," you interrupt, smiling sheepishly. "But you should be advised that humans sometimes make poor decisions on a whim."
"Then perhaps it is my duty to help you avoid that. I could escort you to sick bay. I believe Dr. Crusher has much success with helping people sleep when they are unable."
"Whoa, hey. It's not that dire, yet. It's just..."
You're back at square one and you sigh internally. Telling him the truth is less humiliating than being dragged to Sickbay, right? You don't have many options now that you've opened your mouth, anyway.
"I'm lonely." There. You said it. And once you start, you can't seem to stop. "Homesick, really. I could sleep if I could stop thinking about how far away I am from my home planet, but that's all I CAN think about. I don't need medical attention. I need..."
You trail off, realizing that you don't actually know what you're asking for. A comforting word? A hug? A shuttlecraft to take you back where you belong?
"Yes?" Data prompts, when you don't finish your sentence.
"...A distraction," you say, finally. It's the closest thing to the truth that you can come up with. "You know. Something to take my mind off of it."
"Ah."
Data nods, but this time it seems to be more in acknowledgement than one of his usual tics.
"And you are anticipating that I could provide a distraction?"
"...Hoping," you clarify. "No obligations. I'll leave if you'd rather...?"
"I believe that I am fully capable of providing a distraction. Would you like to take a seat?"
"Sure. Thank you."
You settle on the unoccupied cushion of the couch furthest away from Spot, so you don't disturb the fuzzball at rest. Data is quick to join you and you watch as he gently rests his hand on Spot's back and strokes her fur.
It's a simple gesture but so HUMAN that you can't help but smile.
"You once expressed to me that you are a fan of classic earth literature, did you not?"
"Yeah," you say, surprised that he remembered such an insignificant detail. "The library on the colony where I grew up didn't have much for non-educational reading. Just a few battered books. Johnny Tremaine was my favourite."
"Then I will read it to you. Downloading now."
You watch him curiously as you pull your legs up to your chest and rest your head against the back of the couch. His eyes dart back and forth rapidly; faster than anything you've ever seen. It almost seems impossible that he could really be reading until he opens his mouth and says -
"On Rocky islands, gulls woke. Time to be about their business. Silently they floated in on the town..."
You shift closer to him to better hear each soft-spoken word and close your eyes, letting his voice paint the picture in your head.
These are not your stars, but in this moment they're beautiful again. And when you wake in the morning to find a blanket carefully draped over you and Spot purring contentedly from her perch on your chest, you'll find that the Enterprise DOES feel a little more like home.